Nightshade
by JustUptownFuckMeUp
Summary: Life isn't a fairytale, especially in Skyrim. It's gritty and hard and sometimes very, very stupid. Rezuin knows this better than anybody. Because life isn't perfect, but even though it's not always ideal, sometimes we find purpose.
1. Dirt

_Yes, another TES story. My second. I thought, with my neverending loyalty to TES, why not write for Skyrim this time? As the one and only disclaimer I'll bother putting here, __Bethesda owns everything and everything Elder Scrolls. I own nothing but my OC._

_[-]_

Drifts of snow rose as angled hills around dark pines, the light of the setting sun shining off the snow. Mountains towered, stoic and shadowed, behind the white hills. A particularly strong gust of wind blew loose dustings of ice in curved hooks off the drifts. A bird chirped somewhere.

The quiet of the evening was shattered by a sharp crunch as a bare foot smashed through the frozen crust of the snow. Another followed, quieter, as the maker of said footstep was carefully maneuvering through the holes already made.

"Listener," A voice called weakly. "Could we have not taken an easier path?"

The woman leading the two-person caravan snorted a breath out her nose, creating a burst of white fog that quickly dissipated. She looked over her shoulder briefly, casting her initiate a look filled with such unbridled frustration that the woman clamped her mouth shut. The silence lasted as long as it took to make another deep footprint. "Listener, but there are roads not too far away, and—"

"Quiet." The Listener spat back, plowing onwards. "Unless you are in the mood to be sprung by a gang of bandits, I suggest you learn to enjoy the wilderness."

The travelers came to the top of a steep rise, and the leader of the two looked down at the plain below. A blast of freezing wind blew away her hood, revealing the sharply angled cheekbones and stern features common of Wood Elves. Her one seeing eye watched the sun sink below the snow-rimmed horizon as her gasping companion joined her, hanging back a couple steps. The Bosmer waited patiently, tapping her foot. An echoing roar, faint as a whisper, cascaded down the torn mountainside.

"Listener Rezuin . . ." The pale woman stared up at the mountain with a flicker of fear showing behind her black mask. "Did you hear that as well?"

"A dragon, I'm sure." Rezuin looked over her shoulder at the black cliffs. "It's a long way off, but I wouldn't go too close to the mountains."

"But Listener . . ."

"Enough." The tight-lipped Bosmer waved a hand. "We may as well be off before nightfall."

She and her companion began to slowly descend the sharp rocks that made up the other side of the hill, skidding down the slippery, jagged boulders. They stumbled to the bottom just as an earth-shattering roar sounded not yards away. Rezuin ducked under a bit of overhanging rock, drawing the bow from her back. A thin stream of snow drifted down the edge and melted on Rezuin's face. She frowned and looked up over the edge to see her initiate, frozen like an icicle, in plain sight on the top of the boulder.

"Get down here!" She hissed. The woman blinked, looked up, and jumped down to where Rezuin was hiding. Before her feet could touch the ground, the lank initiate was plucked from the air and carried off with a shriek that was snapped away on the wind. Rezuin held an arm over her eyes, razor particles of snow biting her face, as the dragon screeched again. The distant figure of the thrashing woman tumbling to the earth greeted her when she looked back up. The elf spat a curse and sprinted from beneath the ledge. She had not gotten very far at all when the earth suddenly seemed to tilt on its axis. Rezuin stumbled forward and a massive burst of flame missed her by inches.

Her gloved fingers quickly nocked an arrow. She spun around to face the dragon, pulling back even more on the taunt string. The creature was a massive thing, unable to look at Rezuin without tilting its head to either side. It blinked a small, intelligent eye at her, rolled its scaly neck, and opened its mouth again. Rezuin saw what was coming before it happened. She shot her arrow, turned and ran. Another searing spurt of fire blasted into the snow where she had been standing not moments before. The elf ran as fast as physically possible across the tundra, keeping her balance as best she could as the dragon took off again. She finally skid to a stop underneath another rock, this time with an escape plan. Another roar bounced around the plains as Rezuin crawled to a small, circular opening covered in half-rotted boards. She smashed them in with her boot and dropped into the wet tunnel below just as the boulder turned white with fire. The dragon, after seeing its prey escape before its very eyes, screeched in displeasure and heaved itself back into the air.

Rezuin spat. "Damn beast." She picked a torch off the wall and started down the dank corridor. It began with the steep downslope before leveling out for about a mile. Rezuin stepped over shining puddles of slime and wet, staying to the sides of the corridor whenever possible. The light of the torch bounced unevenly off the bricks, creating twisted shadows that disappeared as quickly as they came. Water was leaking through the ceiling somewhere, as a steady dripping rang through the underground path. A skeever had somehow found its way in, and bounded eagerly up to Rezuin, its tiny, sharp teeth glittering. Rezuin promptly kicked it to the wall of the tunnel, and the sound of small bones breaking joined that of water dripping.

She reached the end of the tunnel, which scooped up sharply and led to a large, intricately designed stained glass window that opened like a door. The assassin slipped in, knowing that the other members were more than likely asleep. The Sanctuary smelled like blood, dirt, wine and potato soup, the latter of which was probably what had been eaten for dinner. Rezuin stirred the sticky slurry that was the remnants of the food in the iron pot over a smoldering fire. She wrinkled her nose and picked up an apple off the counter next to the pot. The crunch as she bit into it was almost comically loud in the silent Sanctuary.

"Looks like shit, Nazir." She spoke through the apple, bits of white flesh flying out when she spoke her 'T's. "I thought you were a good cook."

"No need to be cruel. I was a bit low on supplies." The Redguard answered from behind. Rezuin turned around and watched him with a glinting black eye, the milky white iris of the other staring blankly.

"I can make a run for food soon." She took another bite from the apple, leaving identical triangular shapes along the bite from her teeth.

"Speaking of killing . . ." Nazir leaned against the table and crossed his arms. "How did the contract go?"

"Smoothly. Both Hern and his wife are dead."

Nazir raised an eyebrow. "You know that you didn't _have _to kill his wife, right?"

Rezuin tossed the apple core into the potato goo with a low splash. "You know me well enough to know that you don't have to ask why I did."

Nazir sighed and plucked a small pouch from his side. "You're right, of course. Here's your pay for another job well done. Where is your initiate, by the way? I thought two of you left, yet only you return."

She lifted her hand in time to grab the little cloth bag from the air. "Eaten by a dragon." A wet piece of white apple flesh was flicked off a bitten fingernail and into the cooking pot. "I think I will continue on my own for now. That bitch complained too much. Find a better replacement if you can whilst I am gone, Nazir." Rezuin picked up another apple.

"Don't you have your own work to attend to?"

The cold black eye rolled up to regard him. "Let's call it a hobby."

"You'll be caught if you stay on this pattern of yours. I'm not going to stick my neck out for you and endanger what remains of this Sanctuary."

"I won't get caught." The Listener scoffed and casually scratched behind a tapered ear.

"Well, I stand by my decision. Your next contract is a bard named Lurbuk, in Morthal. I would give you more information but something tells me you won't need it."

Rezuin rolled her eyes, the whites flashing as she stepped back out the glass doorway and into the tunnel. "Good guess."

_[-]_

A crowd of people clustered near the base of a twisted tree. They babbled quietly amongst themselves, words of worry and paranoia. A woman's sobbing could be heard amongst the mumble of talk. The citizens formed an almost perfect circle at the tree in the city center, as though afraid to approach the object of their dark curiosity. There was little time for concerned chatter, however, as two guards bearing the yellow colors of Whiterun pushed their way through the civilians. Metal armor clanged together and grumbles of protest went up.

"Let us through! Move along, nothing to see . . . by the Eight." The taller of the two guards, also the one in front, stopped and shook his head at the morbid scene in front of them. A Redguard man lay at the base of the twisted white tree, his hands and legs laid perfectly at his sides. A single, accurate wound at his chest was covered in partially congealed blood and ripped cloth. His skin was gaunt and pale; his chest did not move. Glassy eyes stared blankly at the smooth trunk of the tree. His mouth hung grotesquely open, his tongue lolling over his waxy lips. A trail of dried saliva trailed down the side of his face. White and pink petals were shoved into his mouth and laid about his face.

"Damn it." The guard muttered.

"It's the Nightshade Killer again, isn't it?" The second, shorter guard replied, being careful so he was not overheard by the milling people.

"Yes. We need to do something about this." The guard drew his sword and began pushed the crowd back. "Okay, citizens! Move on, no-one needs to see this. For the love of the gods, get that child away from here!"

The shorter guard turned to the weeping woman. Also a Redguard, she kneeled at the head of the dead man and continued to cry. "Ma'am, did you know this man?"

The woman sniffed and wiped at her cheeks. "Of course I knew him. He was my husband."

"We'll make sure to give him a proper burial. Could you tell us your name?"

"Ahlam." She replied morosely, standing and brushed dirt off her fine clothes. "His was Nazeem."

The first man rejoined the two, sheathing his sword. "Not to worry. We'll get this information to Jarl Balgruuf right away." The woman nodded and walked back toward the residences.

"We need to catch this bastard." The shorter man declared, gesturing as more guards marched up. "Get this man to an undertaker."

The taller guard turned to face the steep steps leading to Dragonsreach. "I'll tell the Jarl immediately. I'm sure the Thane would like some hand in this as well. You should help them." He nodded back at the guards as they awkwardly pulled the deceased up.

His comrade sighed. "I suppose you're right. Oi, put a sheet over him at least! It's not decent, carrying him through town looking like that."

_[-]_

Rezuin blew a sharp breath out between her teeth and slammed the door of her house behind her. She hated the place terribly, but it provided some semblance of privacy in the otherwise ever-watchful city of Whiterun. She fingered with the edge of the Blade of Woe that hung at her side. Her next steps begged extra caution—they always did, at this stage. It was like stepping on a floor rigged with pressure plates. One wrong move and everything blows up and she ends up having to run like beasts of Oblivion were at her heels . . . and people died.

The Thane pulled her bow from her back and tossed it to the side, as well as her quiver of roughly made iron arrows. She drew a thin pipe from her worn bag and began pressing down new, pungent dried leaves. The Bosmer sank into a chair by the fire, muttering a quick word in Daedric. A spurt of fire launched from her hand, and on the command of another spell it died down to a single, long flame that wiggled on her fingertip like an orange worm. Rezuin lit the pipe and sucked it the long stem, letting loose a long breath of white smoke that lingered in the room before slipping up through the boards and into her bedroom. She sighed and let her head rest on the chair back. She would have to go back north to find more nightshade if she had any intention of continuing this.

A knock pounded neatly on the door. Rezuin stretched and picked up her bow and an arrow, then held the pipe between her teeth as she nocked the thin projectile. "It's unlocked."

The door opened to reveal a tall, dark-haired woman with eyes perpetually narrowed. "My Thane." She saluted respectfully.

Rezuin dropped the bow and blew more smoke to the side. "What is it, Lydia?"

"Jarl Balgruuf requests your immediate assistance."

Rezuin sneered, a spot of pointed teeth showing. "Does he? I suppose he wants me to help catch his little killer."

"Yes, my Thane."

"Fine." Rezuin reached over and popped the joints of her shoulders.

Lydia looked up at the cloud of heady smoke clogging the house. "Why does it smell like burning leather in here?"

Rezuin held up the pipe before tapping out the ashes into the fire pit. "Never seen shanka before, eh, Lydia? Comes from a contact of mine in Valenwood. But keep I would keep those all-obeying lips of yours sealed about this."

The Housecarl's frown deepened by a fraction, the crease between her brows grew more defined, though she said nothing but, "As you will, my Thane. Come to Dragonsreach as soon as you may." She quickly left, leaving a slight whirling of smog in her wake.

Rezuin pursed her lips after Lydia was gone. A scar that stretched across her cheek puckered at the movement. She spat a glob of sour spit into the fire that vanished with a faint sizzle and picked up her discarded bow. Her fingers strayed to the edge of Woe again, running along the jagged edge until a line of scarlet dripped off her greyish finger to soak into the boards below. She licked the blood off and walked out into the streets of Whiterun, blinking angrily at the sun.

_[-]_

"Ah, Listener. You return to us so soon." Nazir hummed dryly, looking up from a book that he held open with one hand. The other held a small clay cup filled halfway with something dark and strong-smelling. "Is Lurbuk dead?"

Rezuin kicked out a chair and threw herself into it, anger emanating from her like a rank perfume. "No, he's not dead, you bastard!" She picked a plate off the table and threw it against a nearby wall.

"Hm." Nazir sipped at the contents of the cup and let his gaze fall back to the book. "I suppose you were caught, were you? I told you."

"No," The elf was almost at the point of grinding her teeth. "I have to catch myself."

The other assassin's eyes snapped back up. "You're in trouble now."

"I know I'm in fucking trouble now!" Rezuin snapped. "Don't patronize me, Nazir. I'm finding a way out of this."

"You can't just kill the Jarl. That would bode ill for everyone."

"I'm not going to kill him."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"I need to visit my mother."

Nazir sighed, calmly folded the corner of the page he was reading, and snapped the book closed. He then drained the remainder of the liquid in the cup, smacked his lips, and looked up at Rezuin with no joking tone on his face or in his voice. "Are you sure?"

"Of course." Rezuin drummed her fingers against the table, tiny holes being made where her sharpened nails stabbed into the wood. "I'll need to be careful. Perhaps I'll bring Cicero."

"That clown?" Nazir shook his head. "He and your mother would clash like Babette and sunlight. I would be receiving both your bodies in a single box at my doorstep."

The Listener thought for a moment. "Yes, you're right. I'll go alone." She picked up the empty cup and sniffed at the contents, then reeled back and put it back. "What the name of Sithis were you drinking?"

Nazir simply laughed. "Surely you didn't think you were the only one that partook in illegal substances?"

Rezuin frowned and sniffed the cup again. "Ugh. I didn't know you liked rotmeth. That's poisonous stuff."

"And shanka isn't?"

"Hmph. At least shanka tastes good. Now, I need to see my mother before she keels over." Rezuin stood, heading to the stained glass door.

"Keel over?" Nazir asked as Rezuin stepped into the tunnel. "I didn't think such a thing could happen to that woman."

_[-]_

_This was less than half the size of the chapters I'll be putting up, so call it a pilot and leave a review to tell me what you think!_


	2. Seed

_A man's age is something impressive, it sums up his life: maturity reached slowly and against many obstacles, illnesses cured, griefs and despairs overcome, and unconscious risks taken; maturity formed through so many desires, hopes, regrets, forgotten things, loves. A man's age represents a fine cargo of experiences and memories. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, __Wartime Writings 1939-1944_

A rushing gale of wind howled over the shore, blowing loose snow into the black water. Masser glowed down at the icy northern shore, partially covered in curling sheets of green and yellow light. A small house, silhouetted against the far-off mountains, leaned weakly as another gust of wind whisked across the tundra. A thin stream of smoke leaked from the weathered chimney. A pale fox, hungry and dirty, nuzzled slowly for some semblance of sustenance beneath the frozen surface of the shore. More wind rushed against the house, but not in a line across the ground. Any snow not frozen to the ground was whipped into a loose column shape before falling back to the ground. A tall, skeletal-thin figure stepped out of the raised circle of snow and stopped, turning to the house. The fox raised its head to gaze curiously at the new addition to its environment, judging the danger. Concluding that it would be best to leave and look for food elsewhere, it turned and started off with a small flick of a fluffy tail.

The creature had walked a total of two steps before a quiet twang snapped through the quiet of the night. The fox gave an unnervingly human-like screech as the arrow pierced through the back of its head. Blood, black in the night, spattered across the otherwise immaculate snow. Rezuin fell upon the dead fox not seconds after, ripping the arrow out and adding it to her quiver before pulling out her Blade of Woe and efficiently skinning it. When all the edible pieces of the fox were set in the snow, she snapped her fingers several times, swearing lowly when she stumbled over the flame spell. She thrust out her palm, but instead of torrents of fire only a few bright sparks leapt from her hand.

"Ah, shit." The woman muttered and snapped again, only to scratch her own palm with a sharpened nail.

"You are sloppy. You are dead. I have killed you." Rezuin stopped her efforts and looked over her shoulder. A proud, stern figure looked down at her. Without hesitation Rezuin swung a foot around in a circle, but the other woman jumped back. Rezuin was already on her feet, throwing quick punches at her adversary, but her hands struck nothing but cold air. She turned, seeing the other woman was gone, but a foot connected with choking force in her stomach, practically throwing her back into the snow. As she made to get up a narrow foot pressed at her throat.

"I am disappointed. You really must be hungry if you cannot land a single blow." The foot disappeared and the gaunt woman started back to the tilted shack. "Get up."

Glaring darkly, Rezuin rubbed her throat and stood, trudging after her mother like a child caught stealing sweets. "I don't need your food."

"Perhaps not," Her mother called back, voice faded slightly on the wind. "But you do need my help."

The elder woman opened the door with a creak, entering the dimly lit house. The furniture consisted of a worn table, two short chairs, and a locked chest at the end of a small bed. A clay bowl filled with tiny red snowberries rested next to a flickering golden candle on the table, accompanied by a grinning human skull.

Rezuin's seeing eye flicked over the sparse house as she leaned against the wall of the house and crossed her arms. "Very nice. Almost a castle."

"Shush. You probably live on the street." Rezuin's mother sat down and kicked her long legs up a chair. She was a lean woman, with the lines of age showing around her eyes and mouth. Her skin, once pearly pale in youth, had tightened around her sharp cheekbones. The dark hair that used to shine with life was pulled into a high, dull bun at the back of her head. The one feature that had stayed with her to her exceptional age of two hundred and twenty three years was her eyes. The glowing orbs stuck in her face like circles of sapphire. "Wait, I remember now; you followed in my footsteps and joined the Brotherhood. I could not be more proud. My daughter, the assassin."

"Listener, actually, but you should talk. The last time you were associated with Sithis was, what, about two hundred years ago? Which brings me to the subject of your rejoining the Void. Why haven't you?" Rezuin examined one of her nails, picking under the tapered edge.

"It is the curse Mer must live with, dear. I will accept death when I may. As for my association with the Dark Brotherhood, that is a chapter of my life I would prefer to leave behind me. Now, about your little game . . ."

"For the love of . . . how in the name of the Night Mother did you know this?"

"Do not doubt the ways of an old mother, daughter. The solution to your problem is simple: do not, under any circumstances, run. Do not run, _ever._ If you do so I will personally hunt you down and put an end to my pathetic legacy." She slapped her hand down on the table at the word 'pathetic'.

"Why not?" Rezuin shrugged a shoulder. "I'm quite good at hiding—"

"Quiet!" The scraping of wood against wood joined that of the howling wind outside the shack as Rezuin's mother leapt to her feet. "Insolent child, you know not of what you speak! Do not make my mistakes! Do not run! If there is one thing you should run from, if even this, it is the Dark Brotherhood."

A taut silence descended on the women. The older of the two was the first to break eye contact, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose. Another minute passed before she pulled a small key out of her pocket and bent over the locked chest. The large lock popped off with a heavy clank. Her mother dug in the chest and pulled out two parchment-wrapped packages and a loaf of bread.

"This is all the extra food I have." The Bosmer said quietly. Her voice now seemed very tired and soft. "I can find more myself."

Rezuin paused before accepting the supplies. She stood, looking away awkwardly. She loudly snorted back cold snot before sighing herself and setting the food on the table. "I suppose I should do something for you, too." The younger elf rubbed her hands together in preparation, whispering several scarcely-practiced words to her fingers before pointed a long finger at the doorway to the house. A sharp bang cracked through the night, and a ghostly figure appeared at the threshold. The hooded figure looked between the woman, taking in their differing expressions: one smug and knowing, the other shocked and almost angry. The translucent assassin finally settled at Rezuin, bowing his head ever so slightly in respect.

"Listener. How may I assist? I do see any threats." His voice, though slightly echoed by the Void, remained much the same as it had in life.

"Lucien?" The choked gasp came from Rezuin's mother, who held one hand at her throat and another at her side, clenched in a fist. Eventually she shook her head incredulously. "Lucien Lachance, you gave me trouble in life and now you are back to haunt me. I always knew you would be."

There was no response but silence for several minutes as the deceased Lachance regarded the woman, as if trying to remember who exactly she was. At last, he chuckled. Rezuin was actually slightly surprised—the short laugh was the first thing even close to emotion Lachance had ever displayed in front of her, except for perhaps some vague affection for Shadowmere.

"Vala. I remember you, now." Lachance stepped into the house a bit more, and it was impossible not to notice how he stood partially _in_ one of the chairs. "I believe you were the last friendly face I saw. As I recall, you were looking at me with more than just a _friendly _face. That is, before you ran away from me."

Perhaps it was a trick of the night lights outside, but Rezuin thought she could almost detect the slightest hint of red in the normally pale cheeks of her mother. To add to that, Vala actually seemed to be _uncomfortable. _Her mother was never uncomfortable. Rezuin couldn't believe it. It was a surreal, puzzling experience. She had been aware that they had known each other but this was altogether . . . unexpected.

Her mother seemed to gather herself a bit more, trying to reclaim any pride she may have lost. "Yes, well . . . it is good to see you have not changed even in death, Lucien."

"Mother . . ." Rezuin stopped, thought for a moment, then turned to Lachance instead. "Lucien Lachance, what's your history with my mother?"

"That is a long story." He replied.

"Fine, what's the short version?"

The apparition paused, as though considering what to say and what not to. In the end, however, it was Vala who answered. "It was a complicated time for the Brotherhood." She muttered darkly. Memories of blood-soaked rooms, dark forests and severed heads surfaced from the ocean of her mind, bobbing at her consciousness like beetles in a bowl of soup. "The Oblivion Crisis put the entire province on edge, and the Family was not excluded from the stress. The infamous Mathieu Bellamont was about as well, though at the time we had no idea he was the traitor . . . I assume you at least know that much about our history, child?"

Rezuin paused. In truth, she cared very little for the Brotherhood's past. In many ways, in fact, killing people was just a means to an end—that end being money. "I, ah . . . Yes. Of course I do."

Her mother narrowed her eyes, but continued. "Well, I will refresh your memory. I was Lucien's Silencer . . . yes, that Silencer. I was the famous fool that carried out the fake dead drops for the traitor, the dunce that inadvertently brought about the near end of the Family." She sighed, her age seeming to weigh heavy on her. "Lucien found me one night. I had finished killing the current Listener, Ungolim . . . his body would not have been cold. I was running . . ." A vivid memory flashed behind her eyes. Dark, dark woods, heavy breathing, and a huge feeling of pride. Another contract completed.

"Lucien found me, and we argued. I only then found out what I had been doing." Loud voices breaking the calm of the night, a blade gleaming threateningly, a shock of realization that came as abruptly as a slap to the face. "We fought." A hard punch to a cloaked shoulder, a burning strike across the cheek. Mud flew in all directions, something clamped on her wrists. "We argued some more after he pinned me to a tree. He kissed me, and that made me so furious, I attacked him and ran." Vala bowed her head. "I have never been more ashamed of anything. So you see, my daughter; that is when I came here, to Skyrim."

Rezuin wiped a hand across her forehead, the itching beads of sweat returning a moment later. Fuck this summoning spell; why must Lachance stay for this tale? As she smeared the sweat off on her torn shirt, a hole in her mother's story arose. "That's all very well and good, but if you and this one," Here she jerked a thumb at the ghostly Lachance. "Didn't ride the midnight pony, how is it I exist?"

Vala was only the slightest second delayed in her response. "So quick to doubt, dear. I was young and beautiful once, too." The answer was weak at best, and Rezuin could tell when someone was lying.

Seeing this as her cue to leave, Rezuin picked up her new rations and dropped them into her bag, turned and nodded to her mother. "I will keep your advice in mind, mother. Farewell, for now." And she marched out into the blizzard that now surged around the tiny house.

The younger Bosmer immediately released the spell holding Lachance in the mortal world. She unfolded a crumpled piece of paper, looked it over, brushed a finger over a tiny picture there and muttered a couple words in Daedric. She looked over her shoulder, back into the shack, to see her mother rifling through the locked chest again. A burst of wind, almost deafening, howled around Rezuin and the northern shore of Skyrim evaporated in a whirl of snow.

_[-]_

Long, thin streams of smoke curled up into the air to linger at the ceiling of the tiny inn. Rezuin was well aware that it was probably not wise to make herself conspicuous by smoking or, well, existing. She seemed to be the only living being inside the inn except for the innkeeper and the Orc she had been sent to eliminate; her very presence begged attention. She coughed lightly and blew out more white smoke. The Orc, Lurbuk, had an annoying tendency to stay in the main room of the inn, irritatingly in plain sight. It had been an hours-long stakeout, and her mind was slightly foggy from the inhalation of the shanka smoke, but Rezuin finally watched the bard enter his room and stay there, foolishly leaving the door open. The Listener upturned her pipe and ground out the ashes with her foot, leaving a black stain on the floor of the Moorside Inn. Being careful that no eyes were on her, she sidled into Lurbuk's room, drawing her Blade of Woe from her side. The metal rang lightly, singing a tune only a killer could truly appreciate.

Lurbuk was soundly asleep, snoring lightly and muttering something about sweetrolls. Rezuin rolled her eyes as she pulled on a pair of black leather gloves. The job was almost too easy, now that she was here. Woe sliced flawlessly against the tinted flesh of the bard. Blood spilled out like a small waterfall, soaking the bed-sheets and splashing against the shiny gloves. Rezuin smiled, in a way—a tight pulling at the corners of her mouth, hideously twisting several of her scars out of the way.

A scream interrupted her tiny instant of satisfaction. A Redguard woman stood in the doorway, a shaking hand held to her mouth. "Y-you . . ." Her eyes moved from Rezuin to the dead Lurbuk and back again, the former pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"Yes, me." The assassin sighed. "Now, let's not have things go our heads. Just don't call the—"

"_Guards!_" The woman screeched, sprinting from the room in terror. _"Guards! Murderer! Help!"_

Rezuin was out the door before the horrified innkeeper, tearing across the snowy hills and rocks. Yells of the town guard reached her a moment later, as well as the quiet clattering of arrows and steady clomp of boots. Someone managed to land a blow to her arm, but the Listener only stumbled forward slightly and plowed onward, showing no outward indications of fatigue. After twenty minutes, the Morthal guards were long gone. Rezuin still didn't stop, continuing in Dawnstar's general direction until dawn began to peer over the edge of the mountains. Hours passed, until finally she came over a familiar ridge. Dawnstar squatted in the distance, a smear of a town in the shadow of the mountains. Rezuin looked down at the rocks, reminded of not so very long ago when her idiotic initiate had been snapped up by that . . .

The assassin groaned and turned around. There, to her great annoyance, was the very same dragon that had made a nice lunch of her initiate. The creature was clutched the side of the mountain, ragged wings partially spread. It turned its head curiously, regarding her as though trying to remember if it had seen her before. Seeming almost to nod, it shoved gracelessly off the mountain, roaring and bobbing through the air toward Rezuin.

Rezuin, seeing the beast almost falling through the air toward her, calmly pulled her bow off her back and strung it, plucking the taut string. She nocked an arrow and aimed carefully at the incoming beast, one eye squinting habitually. The marks around her black eye, permanently creased there by years of marksmanship, deepened. The dragon circled above her, bellowing flames into the air, before landing in the tundra with an earth-rending crash. Snow flew up in a massive cloud that instantly melted away as another spout of fire shot from the dragon's maw. It did nothing but encourage Rezuin to remain where she was, perched on the black rocks above the windy plains. The dragon spat more short bursts of fire, trying to aim up toward her.

Here Rezuin released her arrow. She watched the thin splinter of wood disappeared into the fire and powdery snow, already fixing another arrow on the string. A screech of pain reverberated up the rocks. The snow dissipated to reveal the dragon's huge, scaly head splattered with blood on one side. An arrow, looking only like a tiny pin to the massive beast, poked out of the corner of its fanged mouth. With nothing obscuring her view, Rezuin shot three more arrows in quick succession, each striking within inches of each other in the dragon's forehead. The serpent exploded in furious cries of agony, flapping its stained wings in vain.

Rezuin pulled back a final arrow, whispering a specially-crafted hex that she had learned from none other than her aging mother. The arrow erupted in curling blue flames that licked up her grayish hands and forearms. She hummed at the warm feeling; it was like sitting by a campfire. She waited until the dragon reared up and let loose the burning arrow, watching the blue streak stick firmly in its armored throat. The fire spread at an unnatural rate across the off-white body, consuming it and its terrified, pained screams of death.

The Listener jumped down the rocks, near throwing herself down to the ground below. Her exposed forearms skid into the snow as she landed almost on her face. A layer of ice that had frozen over the ground shattered like glass, razor pieces dug into her skin and blood streamed down her injured arms. She brushed the ice off her without a thought or wince, and tore across the plain to the gargantuan corpse of the pale dragon. As she approached, the body decomposed on the spot, whirling streams of pink and yellow energy pouring from the skeleton.

Rezuin almost choked on the undiluted pleasure of the absorption of the soul. It was a feeling that never got old, really. She licked her lips and blew a long breath out her nose. An itch on her shoulder irritated her slightly, but she brushed it off as an aftereffect of the soul and walked to the little trapdoor that led to the Sanctuary. She jumped through the hole and landed in the familiar, dank tunnel. Stagnant, pungent water splashed up around her legs. Rezuin didn't bother keeping to the edge and simply waded through the slime. When she emerged in the Sanctuary, Nazir and Babette were both at the long table, and seemed to be eating breakfast. A quiet echo of Cicero's mad giggling could be heard from the upper floor.

Babette blinked and looked up from her tall glass of blood. "Listener, good to see you again."

Rezuin nodded and sat at the end of the table. "Yes, it is. I had to run here from Morthal . . . the guards were rather adamant."

Nazir glanced up from his book. "You ran all the way here from Morthal?"

"Yes . . ."

He frowned, but said nothing. Babette sniffed daintily at the air. "You may want to get the arrow wound treated, Listener." She noted sternly.

"Arrow wound?" Rezuin furrowed her brows.

"On your back, Listener."

Rezuin reached over her shoulder to inspect for such a wound, and was surprised to find a small arrow sticking out of her shoulder, almost on her arm. She had no idea how she had missed this before, but that explained the itching. She wrapped her fingers around the thin shaft and made to pull the arrow out when two different pitched yells stopped her.

"Listener!" Babette was standing now, her small form forcefully pushing Rezuin further into the Sanctuary, in the direction of the master bedroom. "You can't just pull that arrow out. It needs to be treated properly." The vampire child turned back to an only mildly interested Nazir. "You stay here."

The Redguard waved a hand. "I was planning on it."

Babette pushed an annoyed Rezuin down the hall and into the bedroom, closing the door behind them. She opened a drawer and pulled out bundles of bandages, as well as a short dagger. "This will hurt, Listener, but I assure you that I've healed many wounds before, and the amount of blood you have lost will be of no matter to me—"

"Just get on with it." Rezuin sighed, pulling her shirt off. "Don't bother about pain, I'll be fine."

Babette shrugged. "Whatever you say, Listener. Now please, lay on the bed."

Rezuin lay down exasperatedly on her front. The arrow in her shoulder stuck up gruesomely, the fletching covered in blood. Her entire back was smeared thick with scarlet. Babette pressed some of the bandages to the wound with one small hand, and in a practiced move pulled out the sticky arrow with her other. She tossed the projectile to the side and pushed more bandages to the wound. Rezuin barely blinked. The bandages were quickly soaked with blood, and Babette tossed the drenched cloth to the side and wrapped clean ones around the injured shoulder with speed that only four hundred years of practice could justify.

When the dirty business was done and the Babette tied the wound off, Rezuin turned her head to the side. "You done? I want to get my money for that fucking Orc."

"Yes, but you aren't going anywhere, Listener." Babette informed the woman in her normal bored tone. "Even if you can't feel pain, your body needs rest. You lost ridiculous amounts of blood and ran for miles, nonstop, on top of that."

Rezuin huffed angrily and flipped herself into a sitting position. "That's foolish. I'll get some rest when I want to get some rest." She stood up indignantly, took a step away from the bed and promptly collapsed, unconscious.

Babette shook her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval as she began to pull Rezuin onto the bed. "I told her, but did she listen? Of course not. How ironic."

_[-]_

A contrasting pair of eyes snapped open: one black and the other blind and milky white. A scarred hand reached up, patting the opposite shoulder. Rezuin frowned, and then ripped the bandage off her shoulder. She got out of bed, rubbing the new three-inch scar on her back. A quick rummaging around in a dresser granted her a new shirt and pair of breeches. She pulled her bow over her shoulder and her quiver, which rattled with a lack of many arrows. She stalked into the main room, where Nazir was scratching across a sheet of paper with a short quill.

He looked up and set aside his quill. "I assume you're back for your money?"

"Why else?" She scoffed and caught the pouch of gold.

"Because you enjoy all of our thrilling, unique company?"

Rezuin snorted as an answer. "Do you have any more contracts, because if not I have shanka to smuggle."

Nazir nodded. "Yes, but you may as well go off and do . . . whatever is it you do when you go off on your own. Those people will probably give you more money than I can, anyway. Besides, shouldn't you be resting? That seemed like a pretty deep wound."

The Listener simply opened the stained-glass door. "Not to me." She trotted through the tunnel and pulled herself out the top, glancing around warily. No wolves or trolls, yet. They tended to frequent the area. She unfolded her map and looked to a tiny, hand-drawn icon south of Falkreath. With a muttered word she was snapped away by a howling whirlwind.

Rezuin began to neatly folding her map again, now standing at the base of a mountain on the other side of the province. In front of her, a most illegal scene was playing out. Several feet away, a door disguised as a giant boulder was pushed to the side to expose a rank, dirt tunnel that seemed to have been dug through the very mountain but upon closer inspection was a straight, dark plunge down for many feet before leveling out and heading south. A makeshift pulley system had been established, allowing for the easy transport of large shipments of skooma or shanka. A group of men grunted quiet, angry instructions to each other as they methodically levered small crates out of the hole and onto a large horse-drawn cart.

These men looked like the scummiest bunch one could find. The world's equivalent to the dog shit scraped off a boot. Most were Nords, but several were Dunmer or Khajiit. An older Bosmer seemed to be the leader of them, and was slightly more respectable-looking, but that was the only thing that distinguished him. The rest were a collective group of scars, reeking sweat, and alcohol. Over half had a short pipe sticking permanently in between their teeth, if they had any. Rezuin felt more at home here than anywhere.

The tall Bosmer man turned to see her arrive and broke out in a glowing grin. He was much, much older than Rezuin by approximately two hundred years, give or take a couple decades. A weathered cane was grasped in one hand, supporting much of his weight, as his right leg from the knee down was fabricated. He reached out his free hand and enthusiastically shook Rezuin's thin hand. He, like Vala, had once been quite handsome in his youth, but time had not been kind. Permanent shadows hung under his sad eyes. His light hair had been cut short so it clung to his head, though patches of white shone through in places. He had told Rezuin once that a saber cat had eaten his leg, but Vala had later informed her that it had been amputated off after he was wounded in the Oblivion Crisis.

"My girl, how good to see you. I swear you just keep getting taller." He shook his head. "Lucky you."

The side of the assassin's mouth turned up. "Good to see you too, Nulem, you old bastard. Thought you'd have been out searching for my mother instead of doing this dirty work." She nodded at the stack of crates.

"Eh!" One of the men called, brandishing his pipe threateningly at her. "This is perfectly respectable business we have going here, lass, and don't you forget it!" The man belched loudly, hacked a glob of brownish phlegm to the side and heaved another crate onto the existing pile.

"Yes, well . . ." Nulem cleared his throat awkwardly before turning back to Rezuin. "I seem to have found myself as the kingpin of . . ." The old elf stopped of wave his hand vaguely. "Whatever this is. And about your mother, well, that boat sailed long ago for me. I'm not going to delude myself as I did when I was a young man. Plus, this is a far more lucrative operation than chasing that beautiful mother of yours." He patted the girl's shoulder a bit firmly. "But don't think just because I fancy your mother you'll get your share for free. You have the money?"

Rezuin rolled her eyes and pulled out the pouch of coins she had just received from Nazir. "I always do, Nulem."

The blond Bosmer happily plucked the pouch from her hand. "Why, for me? You shouldn't have!"

"Yeah, yeah. Where's my shanka?"

"Ooh, touchy. Fine." Nulem gave a short whistle and gestured at the man that had teased Rezuin before. "Heimskr! Get ten shares share for the girl." The man nodded, pried open one of the crates and began sorting the dark leaves into fistfuls that he rolled into pieces of parchment about the length of a hand and wide as two fingers.

"I think you can stop calling me 'girl' now." Rezuin muttered, folding her arms. Heimskr brought over a small bag filled with the shares of shanka.

"Oh, you'll always be a girl in my eyes, Rez. Anyway, you don't owe me all this." Nulem opened the pouch of money and began sorting through it, eventually pulling out about fifty pieces and handing the rest back to Rezuin, along with another hundred from his own pocket. "This is all I need. Fifty to me for the shanka, and two-fifty to you for the transportation. Though I really should charge you more . . ."

"But you know you won't. I'll get it to where it needs to go, trust me."

"Why is that so hard for me to do?"

"Here, lass." Heimskr tossed her two large sacks and handed her a smaller one. "Now don't go fucking us over." He trudged back to the cart.

Rezuin opened her own bag and dropped the shanka in, hearing the sacks thud lightly at the bottom. Nulem leaned over curiously. "Still using your mother's hand-me-downs, eh?"

The Listener shook her head. "Only this one. I made my own map." She unfolded the slightly yellowed paper to demonstrate.

"Does it still have that strange enchantment on it?" Nulem asked. "I remember your mother having some problems."

"Yes, of course. I had to destroy the one of Cyrodiil in order to learn the enchantment for this one." Rezuin pulled her bag over her shoulder. "Anyway, I should be going. Thanks for the shanka."

Nulem began to hobble back to the cart, waving a hand vaguely at the vanishing assassin behind him. "Say hello to your mother for me."


	3. Sprout

_I'm really very pleased with the reviews I'm getting! This little story had taken off better than I expected. I'll try and keep updates regular, but please don't count on it. I've never been one for those things, combined with the fact that I'm moving across the country and the holidays are rapidly approaching, things should be going slow for a while. Be patient, my lovely readers. And about the quotes, I kinda like to throw 'em in every now and again if there's no AN. So not this time, but later._

_P.S. On the subject of moving, my Internet will be down for about a week and a half so this chapter has taken longer (because I can't put it up) but it's EPIC. _

_[-]_

A foot, bare but for dirty linen wrapped around the arch, lowered into the cold room. Another followed, and Rezuin carefully snuck into the sleeping Sanctuary. She looked around, wary of any lingering members, though it seemed as though Babette was off hunting or some such. Rezuin let the glass door click closed behind her. The little noise sounded like the blast of a horn in the ringing silence. With another quick look around, she padded straight down the hall and into the master bedroom that was hers. She knelt at the edge of her bed and lifted one of the fur blankets to shove a large sack of pungent shanka under.

"You aren't keeping that here." An annoyed Nazir snapped from the doorway.

Rezuin snorted. "Yes, I really think I am."

"Then I suppose I can help myself. I'm the one that has to manage this place while you're off playing with dragons." The Redguard suggested casually.

"Not if you want to keep your lungs!" Rezuin sang, shoving the other bag under.

"Hey!" Nazir pointed a finger at her. "Remember, you still belong to this Family, and I'm not going to tolerate that sort of thing. Save that for your contracts."

"Ugh." Rezuin dusted off her hands and stood. "You and your damn rules. Fine, yes, I'll stop. Now, do you have another contract for me?"

"Yes, in fact. I'll tell you what it is, but there's another matter we need to address as well." Nazir informed her seriously. "First, your contract is a scavenger named Deekus. He's just north of Dawnstar near some wrecked ship, so he shouldn't be too big of a challenge for you. Be careful, though. He's a crafty one."

"No problem. What's the issue?"

Nazir hesitated. "Now, you know I wouldn't ask you to do this unless it was completely ness—"

"Oh, spit it out. I don't have all day."

"I need you to get rid of our newest initiate."

Rezuin raised an eyebrow. "That's all?" She pulled Woe off her hip and pushed past him. "Pity, I was hoping for something mildly interesting."

"That's exactly it." Nazir turned. "You can't kill him."

Rezuin yelled in frustration, waving her drawn knife in dangerously random motions. "There always has to be something, doesn't there! Why can't I just kill the little shit?"

"His cousin is a member of Dawnstar's city guard, and knows exactly where the Sanctuary is." Nazir explained. "You can't kill him because his cousin is threatening to bring this entire place down. I won't have this place become a repeat of Falkreath. I don't care what you do with him; the initiate is sworn to silence. Just get him out of here."

"Why can't this cousin take him in?"

"He doesn't want to take care of another person. Something about food troubles. Anyway, get him out in any way you can. If I hear that I single hair on his head has been hurt I swear . . ."

Rezuin passed him a condescending look. "I thought you said I'm not allowed to do that."

"_You _aren't. Now go, and don't forget about Deekus."

"Of course." Rezuin slapped the Blade of Woe back into its sheathe and began walking back to the main room. "By the way, the shanka will only be there for as long as it takes me to finish this whole business. Then I'll be back to deal with it myself. I know I won't have to worry about you or anyone else taking any. For some reason, I'm the only one here that seems to enjoy it . . . besides, I could just release my army of grimy smugglers on you."

"Harsh, Listener."

"Hardly. I've actually been hiding shanka here since day one; this is just the first time you caught me." Rezuin smirked at Nazir's disapproving scowl. "But I don't think I want to take care of some irresponsible initiate right now. I have bigger slaughterfish to gut. There's still the matter of me having to arrest myself. But," She snapped before Nazir could say anything. "I'll do it at some point. Just take care of the kid until I can sort out my own problems."

_[-]_

Rezuin narrowed her eyes at her target. He was squatted next to a small fire made of driftwood and broken ship pieces. The fool wasn't even wearing a shirt. It was almost high noon in the cold north, and the white sun reflected blindingly off the snow that Rezuin had surrounded herself in. Even if Deekus looked right where she was crouched, he would have to know exactly what he was looking for to see her. The wind was hardly there—no animals made a sound. The only noise was the constant rushing and sloshing of the black ocean. A thin, river-like strip of water separated Rezuin from her prey on the opposite bank.

The assassin frowned and narrowed her eyes. After several minutes of patient waiting that confirmed Deekus was not going to move, she slowly, deliberately pulled an arrow from her sparse quiver and nocked it. She breathed on her cold fingers that held the arrow and pulled the string back until the filthy reddish fletching brushed her thin cheek. Her black eye squinted. She pulled in an icy cold breath through her nose and blew it out her mouth, and let her arrow fly.

The only sound made was a gagging choke as Deekus collapsed. Rezuin stood and leapt into the freezing, rushing torrent of water, holding her bow above her head as she waded through. When she reached the opposite bank she knelt at Deekus' body and dug through his pockets. Finding nothing but a few pieces of gold, she pushed his body into the water with her foot and watched him float away, bobbing to the surface occasionally before sinking to the bottom. Rezuin looked down and realized she was standing in a thick pool of blood that was deep enough to almost submerge her smallest toe.

She sighed and squelched away, leaving her bag open and simply shoving the excess amounts of gold, jewelry and gems that Deekus had collected as his plunder into the little purse. She sorted through the various remaining valuables, breaking a couple locks and sidestepping a poorly hidden bear trap. After collecting her loot, she snapped open her map and was hence snapped away herself, to Whiterun. Upon arrival she dug about in her bag once more, now drawing out a slightly torn and much stained cloak that she swung about her shoulders. At one point the cloth may have been black, but years of wear had rubbed it down to a mix of brown and ashen gray.

Rezuin, having appeared inside the gates, started down the road lit by the pinkish setting sun. The odd passage of time when travelling with her map was something her mother had warned her about, but it was something altogether different to experience. It was almost nauseating.

Glancing behind her, Rezuin pulled her hood up. No need for anyone to see her face now. She checked to be sure she was wearing her gloves and turned off the main road, into the poorer of the residential areas. The houses were nothing compared to the places near Dragonsreach, but the people that lived here were made of the same stuff. Call Rezuin one thing, call her a problem solver. And to her, there was only one way she could get out of this hole, and that was to dig herself out.

Her plan was simple but relied on a lot of luck, something that Rezuin seemed to be consistently out of. Nonetheless, it was all she could think of. Her first stop was the Bannered Mare, an inn that the Nords of the town tended to favor. Rezuin detested the place, but there was next to nothing that she didn't detest on some level. Inside, the sounds of song and laughter ground against Rezuin's ears like stone against blade. Sneering beneath her hood, she found a spare seat on the bar next to a woman not much younger than herself, at least in looks.

"What can I get for you, then?" The bartender said, a little warily. Rezuin looked up just a bit so her face was just visible. "Oh, the Thane! Here you are, on me, of course!" The bartender plastered a smile on her face and pushed a mug of ale over to Rezuin. The Mer nodded slightly and took a sip, and almost spat it back out. Even Nazir's foul drink was better than that. Knowing she had to remain as low-profile as she could, however, she grimaced and swallowed. Perhaps another day, if she was bored enough, she could come back and burn the place down. Fire was always entertaining.

Rezuin glanced at the girl beside herself. She was daintily drinking wine from a small glass and making small talk with the man next to her. Beside her, at the foot of the stool, was a woven basket filled with flowers. It was almost enough to make Rezuin laugh. How had she not seen this girl before? She waited until the girl set down her glass and no one was looking, and she upended a tiny vial of clear, slightly sweet-smelling liquid into the wine.

Rezuin, not needing to remain for long, stood and left the inn. After a bit of walking she found the house she was looking for and fell into the shadows behind it. From her pocket she pulled a scrap of parchment and scribbled a short message on it with a stub of charcoal. She folded it once and pushed it back into her pocket. The thin petals of a flower brushed her fingers.

The night gradually grew darker, the sun finally collapsing over the horizon. The guards' rounds slowed, and then continued as normal, each soldier now holding a flickering torch. A young woman with a basket of colorful flowers in her arms broke off from the road and headed toward her house. Her form cast sharp moon-shadows against the gray grass. She unlocked the door and went inside, closing and locking the door behind her. Several minutes passed, and Rezuin darted out from the shadows and picked the lock on the house, her fingers seeming to just brush the lock before it sprung open. She pushed the door open with her nails, peering around the corner.

The girl from the inn was lying in the middle of her floor, flowers spilled all about her. A strip of spit hung from her mouth as she slumbered on. Rezuin relaxed and walked inside, straightening up. From her pocket she removed a folded piece of paper, two pinkish flowers, and the Blade of Woe from her belt.

_[-]_

"Move aside! Out of the way, all of you!" A Dunmer woman shoved her way through the congregating crowd. The body of a girl was leaned against the side of her house. She looked the same as the others. The stab wound to her chest had congealed into a sticky dark brown across her front. Her eyes were rolled back in her head. White, dried saliva was crusted around her mouth and chin, almost down to her neck. To confirm everyone's worst suspicions, nightshade petals had been crammed into her mouth and tossed around the body.

"Housecarl Irileth!" A guard jogged up, panting. "The Jarl wishes to know . . . by the Gods." He interrupted himself at the sight of the body. "So this is another one by the Nightshade Killer, then?"

"Yes." Irileth answered shortly. "Now go on, what was it?"

"Ah, right, well, the Jarl wishes to see you immediately." The man turned back to the body. "What's that in her mouth?"

"Very well, I will—what? Are you thick?" She frowned at the guard.

"No, my lady, not the flower. The paper." He edged toward the body, as though afraid it was going to jump at him, and carefully pinched a folded, wet piece of paper from her mouth.

"Well?" Irileth snapped impatiently. "What does it say?"

The guard unceremoniously unfolded the damp parchment. "It says, 'I'll stop if you do'. What do you suppose that means?"

Irileth turned on her heel on began marching up to Dragonsreach. "It means we drop the search."

"My lady?" The guard jogged after her briskly retreating form, pushing back through the worried onlookers.

"You heard me! We drop it now or more people die!" She looked over her shoulder without breaking stride. "And find someone to move that body; we don't need more unrest among the citizens. Now, get me the Thane."

_[-]_

Rezuin peeled away her gloves, slick with blood and spit, and tossed them into the fire that constantly burned inside Breezehome. Foul-smelling smoke began to drift up, through the floorboards. Rezuin coughed a bit heavily and dug in her bag for her pipe. She pulled it and little bag of shanka out with trembling hands. She pulled a bit of the stuff from her bag and jammed it in the pipe, quickly lighting it and taking a heavy drag. The minute shaking in her hands ceased almost immediately. Rezuin sighed, blowing two thick billows of smoke from her nostrils.

A pounding on the door interrupted her moment of brief pleasure. She grabbed the sack of shanka from the floor and stuffed it in her bag. "It's open."

The door opened to a familiar frowning woman. "My Thane, the Jarl requests your presence once more."

Rezuin hissed in irritation. "Again?"

"Yes, my Thane. As soon as you may."

"Very well." Rezuin stuck the pipe in her mouth and walked out the door with Lydia. "Why is it this time?"

"Another murder by the Nightshade Killer." Lydia informed her. "This time there was a message, and the Jarl wishes to have your opinion on the matter."

"That's all?"

"Yes, my Thane." Lydia and Rezuin circled around the twisted white tree at the city's center.

"Well, let's get this over with, and we can go down to the Bannered Mare for a drink. I'm buying."

_[-]_

For the second time in two days, a personal record, Rezuin was sitting at the bar of the Bannered Mare, drinking free, sickly sweet ale and keeping her head down. Coming to the inn had been a poor decision on her part, as Lydia was a terrible drinking partner. She sat stiffly, drank stiffly, shit, she even breathed stiffly. Rezuin was having a bit of a hard time seeing her, as Lydia sat on her left—her blind side. However by tilted her head slightly, she could tell that the woman needed to get the rod out of her ass. Rezuin pulled her bag onto her lap and reach down into it. The bag itself was only about the size of a regular coin-purse, but Rezuin still had a hard time reaching the bottom. Only when her entire arm, all the way to the shoulder, was inexplicably sunk into the bag did she find what she was looking for.

As subtly as she could, Rezuin pulled a small glass vial out. Unlike the drug used on the girl from the day before, this liquid had some color and smelled of strong alcohol. She held it away from her face and under the table, carefully pulling the cork out. Glancing over her shoulder out of habit, she reached over and emptied the little vial in Lydia's glass. The Housecarl, obviously missing nothing, glanced over at Rezuin.

To the untrained eye, it would not seem as though the Listener had even moved. She sat as she had before, slouched over the bar and staring intently at the dull rim of her mug. She turned to look at Lydia from the edge of her seeing eye, the slightest of smirks pulled at her scars. "Drink up."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. "What did you just put in my drink, my Thane?"

Rezuin's smirk deepened, her scars twisting further. "It isn't poison, if that's what you're implying. Now drink up, it's good for you." She took a long, exaggerated draught from her own drink and wiped the foam off her mouth with the back of her hand. When she glanced back at Lydia, the woman was staring at her as though she had grown a third eye in the middle of her forehead. "What?"

Lydia shook her head and took a careful sip of her ale. "Nothing, my Thane."

A slightly yellow tooth glinted under her hood. "I thought so."

Rezuin left the Bannered Mare before things could get too rowdy. As the hour grew later the music grew worse and the stench of ale and Nord increased to such a choking capacity that it was all Rezuin could do to get out before a massacre took place. She breathed sharply out her nose as she shoved her way out the door, two streams of white fog billowing from her nostrils. The night was chill and quiet outside the glowing ember that was the inn. Rezuin snapped her fingers and rubbed her palms together, a minute bout of shivers rattling up her spine. Yellow flames sprang to life between her cupped hands, crawling across her fingers. She blew into her hands and the fire flared up accordingly.

The door to the Bannered Mare, now quite a bit behind her, slammed open. A column of light cut across the cobbled street, and drunken laughter bubbled through the air. Rezuin scowled and quickened her pace. She would use her map to get out of the city right then, but she found that vanishing on the spot attracted a good bit of attention—something Rezuin was more than content to live without. The entire process of becoming Thane had been a massive mistake. At the time it had been a confusing mess fire, fighting and screams, and then suddenly she was Thane. She hated everything about the position, down to the dull Nordic word for it. Until further notice, however, she was stuck and had to act at least mildly respectable when in the city.

Rezuin pushed out the doors of the city and walked down to the wall, where a tower-like parapet stood as an outpost that guards rarely used. She stepped over the splintery wooden rail and grabbed hold of the washed-out stones. Almost as an insect she scuttled down the side of the wall to the ground, whereupon she immediately set off to the stables to retrieve Shadowmere. The horse was waiting for her and stepped forward eagerly as he saw Rezuin approach. The latter reached out to rub his large cheek, but did not mount the beast. She had made a deal, and intended to honor it.

_[-]_

The sun seeped lazily over the watery horizon; the clouds bled pink into the morning sky. The skyline of Solitude was starkly outlined against the searing sunlight, perched quietly atop the massive stone arch. Hawks circled above the sloshing gray waves, crying out and drawing angled shadows against the morning light. Several ships groaned in the harbor, the calls of their occupants not yet echoing through the bay. The cliffs upon which Solitude leaned were spotted in greenish moss and bits of dusty stone that cascaded down in streams of white powder that were carried away by a stinging, salty breeze. A small figure, almost invisible against the rocks, strode calmly along the path that was laid into the side of the mountain. A large black horse was being led along by the reins. Both dark figures, the only living things besides the hawks in the early morn, tread carefully on the thin path.

The woman passed under the arch and nearly vanished, then emerged out the other side on the horse's back. The pair trotted up the steep switchbacks, quickly falling out of the rosy sunlight and into the more shadowed area before the gates of the city. The woman left her horse in the stables, muttering something threatening to the stricken stableman. She entered the city silently, keeping her hood and eyes up. Despite the absurd hour, she first entered an inn that by the faded sign was called the Winking Skeever. The inn was empty but for the barkeep, who polished a glass contently and leaned against the counter.

He looked up as the woman approached and sat at the bar. "Greetings, stranger. Seems a bit early to be in here, don't you think?"

"Just wine will do." Her voice was strong but almost guttural in its huskiness. The barkeep shrugged and filled the glass he had been polishing halfway with dark liquid.

"So, what are you in town for? The execution? Lots of folk are anticipating that today." The bartender grumbled pleasantly. "Not too surprised to see a new face in here."

"What execution?" The woman looked up slightly, and some of the darker shadows fell away from her face. The barkeep furrowed his brow, but only answered her question.

"I'm surprised you don't know about that." The bearded man folded his arms and leaned forward. "It's the execution of Roggvir, the traitor who opened the gates to Ulfric Stormcloak after he killed the High King." The only reply he received was the clunk as the woman set down her empty glass. "So, what's your name, lass? I can tell you're new here in Solitude."

The woman set a handful of coins on the counter as she stood. "Thanks for the drink." A ray of white light briefly penetrated the dim inn as she opened the door, and vanished as quickly. She flicked out a thin pipe as she walked and lit it with fire that seemed to boil right from her wrists. She strolled casually around the city, picked several pieces of food from an abandoned merchant's stand as she walked by, all the while partially covered by light smoke and her hood. As the woman moved back out onto the main road, she took careful note of the arrival of more people as the morning waned. Now was when her scouting truly began.

She barely twitched as a finely dressed shoulder bumped harshly into her own. It would not have bothered her if it had not been so obviously provocative. The other person had stopped, so she did as well. The sneering person, a female Altmer with what seemed to be a permanent curl to her lip, was frowning harshly and looking the hooded smoker up and down.

"You won't get in the Blue Palace looking like that." She huffed self-righteously.

"Oh?" The other woman almost seemed amused, though there was not even a smirk to show for it. "What makes you think I am going to the Palace?"

The High Elf looked at her again, gold eyes narrowing. The smoking woman wore no armor or even commoner's clothes, but rather walked about in nothing but ragged men's pants and a tunic that seemed as though it had seen little washing of any sort. Sweat stained the pits of the tan cloth, and dirt of all colors was smeared in different places. She wore no shoes of any kind, but the arches of her feet were wrapped in a sort of linen.

"Well," The Altmer woman sniffed. "If you are, I suggest you come by my store so you don't embarrass yourself."

"Indeed I shall." The other woman tapped out her ashes and bowed slightly. "May I ask which shop is yours?"

The Altmer pointed proudly at a little shop tucked away nit far from where they were standing. "That one, right there. Come by whenever you want a better wardrobe." With an upward turn of her nose the woman sauntered off.

"I will make a point of stopping by." The hooded woman said cheerily.

_[-]_

Rezuin let her sharp smile drop as the Altmer bitch stepped away, preening her feathers. What a self-righteous ass. Rezuin put more shanka into her pipe and started off again. Luckily, her scouting seemed to have come to a surprisingly short end. A tapered tooth dug into the soft wood of the pipe as Rezuin lit the dried shanka with a snap. She sucked gratefully at the long stem and once again concealed herself in a thin cloud of smog. Now she only had to wait, and if there was one thing she was good at, it was waiting.


	4. Stem

_The timeline may confuse some people, but it sort of goes like how I played—the Brotherhood stuff got done first, and _then _the main plot got into work. However, she's already Thane at this point, so let's go with the assumption that she did something else to get into Balgruuf's good graces._

_W'P_

_Reality is not always probable, or likely. ~Jorge Luis Borges_

A gentle rustling of wind stirred around the base of Skyrim's southernmost mountains. The night was piercingly cold, as winter was already descended upon the province. The thin forest let out no sound but silence. A small bird, disturbed by the odd shift of wind, chirruped angrily and flopped about in the air before landing back in the gangly pine it was nesting in. Rezuin spared it no attention and moved her gaze and footsteps instead to the very foot of the mountain, where several large rocks were tilted and angled around a large hole that was covered by a wooden door. She shoved one of the smaller boulders out of the way and knelt at the hole, heaving the heavy trapdoor open. The tunnel was a straight dive down for a good distance; at the bottom, the orange spark of a torch flickered feebly.

Rezuin straightened back up and fell back on her heels. She looked around the hole, the traces of the pulley system still imprinted in the snow. Frowning, she wiped away the tracks and bent down over the tunnel again. "Nulem!" She hissed. "Nulem, get over here. I know you're down there!"

The faint clacking of a cane bounced up the tunnel, and the weak light from the torch was shadowed by a Bosmer head. "My dear, how wonderful to see you!"

"Skip the pleasantries, old man; I need a place to stay and I'm in a hurry." Rezuin spat and pulled her legs over the edge of the hole. "I'm coming down."

"By the Divines, there is a ladder!" Nulem exclaimed. "That fall would probably kill you."

"Nothing kills me." Rezuin grabbed the edge of the trapdoor as she fell so it closed behind her. Dirt and a few disturbed bugs fell down onto her as she plummeted. Wind buffeted around her ears for not more than a few seconds before she crashed to the ground with a grotesque cracking. She heard Nulem yell out in shock and saw him fall back a couple steps. Rezuin turned her head, observing the so-called damage. One of her legs was bent at an angle it probably should not have been, and her midsection felt a bit off due most likely to a broken rib, but otherwise she was fine. Using her less injured leg, she pulled herself up and walked crookedly to a small table that Nulem had been sitting at near the entrance. Another trader was there, carving bits of wood from the corner of the table with a knife. He looked up, bored, as Rezuin sat down opposite him.

"Need a splint for that, girl." He commented and went back to carving away. "Even you don't wanna walk like that forever."

"Don't recall it bein' your fucking business." Rezuin snarled back. The thug shrugged, stood and walked deeper into the tunnels. Nulem took his place, sitting heavily and running a hand wearily down his face.

"I don't know how your mother handled you . . ." He sighed, then propped his arms on the table and interlaced his fingers. "Rezuin, why are you here?"

"You're hearing going?" Rezuin inquired from below the tabletop. She had two hands on either side of her leg and was moving the bone back to its normal position with a series of quiet clicks. "I said I was in a hurry." She straightened up and felt along her ribs, feeling several that shifted slightly.

"Yes, I know, but why?" Eye contact lasted for several seconds before Nulem understood, rubbing his temples. "It may seem like it now, but I can't always be here for you to fall back on when you get too deep with this little project of yours. I need to protect what I do and the men I have in my care." He jabbed a finger at her. "Stop this now, or go to your Sanctuary. You can stay here in the Tunnels for as long as you need, but we should be getting back. The men want their payment, and I wouldn't mind a good bed myself."

Rezuin listened patiently before answering. "I understand. It was just those fucking Solitude guards . . ." She hissed out a sigh of self-loathing. "I should have been more careful. Some of the bastards stayed longer than I thought after the execution of some Nord. Took me a good half an hour to get them off my back." She looked around, noticed a mostly-full bottle of ale on the table, and sniffed it. Deciding it wasn't toxic, she took a generous swig. "Whatever. How long are you staying?"

Nulem scratched his chin. "No longer than the end of the week. We're getting a little antsy down here—always do. It's a tight squeeze, so I'd watch your back. These are good men but they haven't seen a woman in a long time."

Rezuin frowned and wiggled her fingers. "It's good to see you still have a sense of humor, old man." She rotated her wrist and repeated the wiggling. She grunted and laid her hand flat on the table. Three fingers on her right hand were tilted at disturbing angles and her forearm was bent in a bad way. "Shit."

As she tried to push the two bones of her arm back into a healthy position, dusty steps sounded down a nearby branch of the tunnels. The trader that had been sitting at the table was back, now with several bruises and a sour look to him. Nulem looked up as he approached—Rezuin pressed on her radius. "Hey, boss, we've got a fight down here. It's starting to get out of hand."

With a groan and a tapping of his cane Nulem stood and started down the tunnel with the thug. "I told you not to call me that." As he vanished around the dirt wall he called back, "You may as well come along, Rezuin. I don't fully trust you on your own."

The assassin waved her good hand. The two pairs of steps slowly faded away. Now, as she listened, Rezuin could faintly hear shouts and scuffling coming from the same direction. It wasn't uncommon for fights to occur in the Tunnels after weeks of beings stuck with the same three dozen men, but it could be dangerous. There was an awful lot of weight above them. Rezuin pushed herself up and put a bit of weight on her leg. It wasn't completely healed yet, but she didn't particularly care. Limping along, she made her way after the retreating forms of the two drug dealers.

The branch stretched in a straight line for a while before curving left and down. Pickaxes lay here and there, as rocks could still get in the way after all the years the Tunnels had been in place. She stepped over them and continued on, sliding slightly down the muddy slope. She reached an open area where many of the traders spent their free time, gambling or drinking or smoking some of their wares. It wasn't the biggest room, just enough for a good fight to break out and get rowdy. Rezuin wiped filth off onto her shirt and hung back as Nulem stopped to look at the scene unfolding before them. An unidentifiable number of men were shouting and throwing punches, kicking their fellows in the fruits, or smashing bottles of varying types of alcohol on unfortunately exposed heads. The din was almost deafening as they yelled and thrashed in the liquid mud, a veritable orgy of violence. A Dark Elf, who had broken free from the fray, charged forward and with a cry smashed a wooden chair full over another man's skull. Shards of wood flew in every direction, a decapitated leg landing next to Rezuin's foot.

"Good luck." She yawned and rubbed her broken fingers. Nulem glared at her and marched forward, cane splashing wetly in the mud.

"All right!" He roared, smacking a couple men who happened to be too close to him. "Get up, you bastards! Enough of this; get up!"

Rezuin almost grinned at Nulem's sudden stance. She ran a hand over the side of her scalp that had hair, scratching at some dry skin under the locks too short to cover her fingernails. She could almost say that she counted herself lucky that she was not a permanent addition to the traders, because then she would have herself to deal with. She stepped forward as all the men lined up like punished children, spattered in all manners of filth and bruises. The man who had been smashed over the head with a chair was still out cold, face-down in a puddle of dirty water with his arm twisted at a strange angle. Nulem walked down the line, stepping over the man and cracking the occasional thug with his cane if they weren't standing straight enough.

"This is pathetic!" He snapped, coming to a standstill and sticking his cane into the ground pointedly. "Hear me? _Pathetic!_ We're going home soon, and this is the treatment I get for getting you all jobs and homes? You better shape up quick, you fucking ungrateful maggots, or I'll have you all flogged. For now, you'll have to make do with our surprise guest for tonight." He stepped aside to show Rezuin smirking, exposing a mouth of sharp, yellowish teeth. "Have fun, boys."

The men glanced at each other and shifted in their line, but didn't move or speak. Rezuin rubbed her hands together dramatically and stepped forward to the first man in line. It was the Dunmer that had used a chair as a weapon. Before he could think about stepping back Rezuin had a vice grip on his arm. She snapped the limb out and briefly stabbed her thumb into his palm. He cried out, but there was no need to pull away, as she had already moved on to the next trader. On his hand was a small, almost triangular shape that leaked a stripe of blood down his hand. Rezuin licked off her nail and did the same treatment to each of the people in line. It wasn't excruciating, but it did fucking hurt for a good while. She would have done something far worse, say, break all their fingers on their right hands, but they needed those hands to move more shipments and it would take too long anyway.

When she was finished there were brownish streaks down her wrist. She brought her arm up to her mouth and began chewing the flakes off. "I'm done here, old man." She said to Nulem, a bit of spit mixing with the dried blood. "Take back your hounds. I'm going to get my bones back in place." She wobbled off, listening to Nulem shout his men back into line.

Rezuin sat at one of the tables that had not been somehow flipped over. She wiped her arm on her shirt and pulled the leg of her trousers up to expose more scarred flesh on her leg. The bone seemed to be mostly healed, but the leg looked crooked. She picked up one of the severed chair legs, broke a piece of wood away and ripped her pant leg off, the latter of which she tore into a single, long strip. Setting the supplies aside, Rezuin reached down and, with a little bit of force, snapped her leg again. She made sure the bone was straight this time before putting the wood against the bone and securing it there with her makeshift bandage.

"You know," Nulem hobbled up and sat down beside her with a groan. "I should just leave this business in your hands. It'll get your mind off this absurd hobby of yours, and I'm getting too old for this anyway. I need someone to take up my mantle." He turned to stare her down. "You'll always have a place to stay. You'll never be tired, hungry, unwanted. You'll be looked up to; I can make sure of it. All you have to do is observe and keep records of the shipments and break up the occasional fight, and I'm certain you can handle that fine."

Rezuin leaned back and rolled her head against her neck, letting out a series of loud cracks. "That's not much of a tempting offer, old man. I have most of that already, and I don't have to take care of a bunch of slobbering Nords." She turned and rested her elbow on the table, staring seriously at the elder Mer. "This isn't my life. I take the perks of knowing you, and am admittedly glad you lessen my prices because you have some sort of displaced fancy for my mother, but I'm not taking this business into my own hands." She held up the scarred digits as if to demonstrate, now slightly disfigured, as her fingers had healed. Dirt was caked under short, filed, torn nails. "You really want this precious lifestyle resting in these? Trust me—"

"Something I won't make the mistake of doing . . ." Nulem added quietly.

" . . . This operation will be better off with you." Rezuin gritted out, narrowing her eyes. She stood, keeping weight off her injured leg, and limped off deeper into the tunnels with a wave. "I'll be sleeping if you need me. And you better not need me."

_[-]_

Rezuin smirked and slammed a hand down on the table. Neat stacks of gold coins rattled and collapsed with the force of the blow and the men seated around her groaned in defeat. She pulled a pile of gold, strips of rabbit meat, small piles of dried shanka, two bottles of Black-Briar mead and a pair of leather shoes toward her in victory. "That, my friends, is how you play the game."

"You cheated, I know it." One of the men grumbled sourly. He had a splash of burns on his right side. "Playin' with you ain't fair, you been touched by the gods."

"The damned Divines have nothing to do with the fact that I just served you your own fat asses on a platter." Rezuin pushed her spoils into her bag, gnawing at her pipe.

"He wasn't talkin' about the Divines, lass." The Nord to her right leaned forward conspiratorially. "We was talkin' about the _daedra._"

Rezuin, as well as the two other men at the table, looked up at the Nord who had spoken. The table was set back in one of the ratty rooms of the Tunnels. The faint plucking of a lute came from somewhere far off, originating from a more musically inclined trader. That table that the four were sitting at was dimly lit from a single lantern in the middle of the four of them. Shadows flickered dangerously off Rezuin's already disturbingly sharp features as she leaned forward.

"What about the _daedra?"_ She flicked the word off her tongue venomously.

"Well, it's no secret that you ain't quite, well . . ." The Nord gestured vaguely. "Right. I was just thinkin', maybe, you ain't been touched by the gods, and that somethin' more dark is at work here."

"So I'm a curse."

"No, no!" The man waved his hands, quickly falling back. "That ain't it! You been a great help to us, er, dolin' out, eh, punishments, and buyin' our goods and such. Not a curse, no, just . . . odd."

"Mhm, well, whatever you boys say." Rezuin propped her chair against the wall and breathed two streams of smoke from her nostrils. "I still win."

The table exploded with accusations and foul language as Rezuin watched the other three. A tankard spilled over and its warm contents oozed across the table. Handmade cards flew every which way, fluttering through the air like stained leaves. The outbursts slowly wound down to drunken mumblings, and the burned Nord slumped to the side, out cold. The other man belched loudly, drooled slightly into his beard, and flopped face-down on the cards table. The last standing—or, sitting—man was the Dark Elf that had taken a liking to the chair earlier in the day. He passed Rezuin a lazy, seriously intoxicated smile.

"You know," He said, his voice slurred slightly. "The more I drink the more female you appear."

"Well, what a stunning compliment." Rezuin spat.

"Thank you." He took another heavy draught from his glass, lolled his head back on his neck and promptly went to sleep. Rezuin reached over the wrecked table and pried the tankard out of his fingers. She peered inside, shrugged, and drained the contents before she folded her arms, leaned back and rested her head on her collar. She, too, was asleep in seconds.

_[-]_

The morning following the traders' revelries, the Tunnels were bustling with yells and groans as the men hauled different equipment around, preparing for their march south. Nulem stood in the midst of the clustering activity, barking orders with varying levels of annoyance, gesturing violently with his cane and ignoring the cries of those who happened to be in the way and get struck. Rezuin ducked as a crate of yet-to-be-sold shanka was tossed from one man to another and shoved her way through the crowd. She thrust out elbows and hissed threateningly at those foolish enough to turn and look.

"Nulem!" She pushed a bulky trader aside with a hand and marched toward the elder Mer. "I'm leaving, old man."

The blond, graying elf laughed and patted her shoulder. "How about, I'll stop calling you a girl if you stop calling me an old man. Deal?"

"Good enough, dust-bones. I'm leaving, thought I might say goodbye." Rezuin nodded curtly. "Goodbye."

"Ah, I suppose it is time we part ways." He smiled kindly, the corners of his mouth and eyes wrinkling. "Have fun prancing about with your Brotherhood. I do hope you bought enough shanka to hold you over, because we will not be returning to Skyrim for some time. Valenwood calls us home, I'm afraid."

Rezuin made a face, crunching up her nose and exposing the yellowed tips of her teeth. "Valenwood. Why you insist on returning to that melting jungle of ape-men and primitives, I am lost."

Nulem laughed and slapped her shoulder heartily. "Ah, you should be talking! I never got the impression that you held Nords in the highest regards."

"I don't." Rezuin pushed his hand away. "I'm leaving now. Have fun." She walked back through the Tunnels, stepping aside as men weighed down by massive crates, barrels or chests trundled along the worn mud. She reached the entrance, where high above her the trapdoor was closed to Skyrim. Rezuin pulled herself onto the rope ladder that hung on the wall and quickly scaled the wide hole, the rope digging red marks into her thickly calloused hands. When she pulled herself out the top, the sun glared blindingly down onto the snow and narrow pines. She blinked several times and focused at a small, quivering brown mass in front of her. A rabbit, ears flat against its sleek head, sat paralyzed in fear not a hands-length in front of her nose. Before it could react or run, Rezuin shoved herself out of the hole, clamped a hand down on the animal and easily snapped its neck.

Tossing the dead creature into her bag, Rezuin stood, brushed a bit of snow off her front and unfolded her map. She looked up again and pushed the paper back into her bag, opening the heavy stone door that led to the Sanctuary. It fell behind her with a loud scraping and shifting of dust; she hardly used this door, and the other members rarely left he Sanctuary, at least to her knowledge. She knew Cicero barely left the top floor, let alone the entire Sanctuary. Rezuin flicked a fat spider off her shoulder as she padded down the steps. She pulled the dead rabbit from her bag and sat at the main table, systematically skinning it.

"You want some, Nazir?" She waved the rabbit, its tiny pink muscles flopping.

"Uh . . . I think I'll pass." He sat down across from her.

"Too bad." She rubbed away stray bits of fur and skin and ran the knife down one of its petite thighs. Her one good eye was peering up at the man across from her. "What do you want, Nazir?"

"The drugs under your bed need to move, now."

"Why?"

"Because I can't hide it forever. Babette and I might not be so inclined, but if the initiates find out something as rare as shanka is here, I can't make any guarantees. Move it, or I'll burn it."

"That's what I do anyway."

"Listener!" Nazir barked, then took a deep breath. "Apologies, Listener. I lost my temper."

"Oh, that happens to me all the time. Except I don't talk to the other person again. No one does, actually." She glanced at the cold fire-pit and sighed. "You couldn't at least keep a fire going . . . what kind of place are you running here while I'm gone?" Her voice was muffled behind mouthfuls of raw rabbit.

"A fine place, I'm assured." Nazir answered, looking a little sickened. "Now . . . please, go eat in your room or something. I feel like keeping my dinner down tonight. And don't forget about the shanka!" He called as she walked into the back of the Sanctuary.

"Yes, mother." She grumbled and took another squelching bite. She would move the shanka all right; there was no way the milk-drinking initiates were getting their grubby little hands on her hard-earned drug. However, that didn't mean that she couldn't keep stashing it. She just had to be a bit more subtle.

_[-]_

"Honored to see you again, my Thane." Lydia bowed her head as Rezuin marched up the steps of Dragonsreach.

"Yes, Lydia." Rezuin greeted. Lydia followed after her as she walked up the steps to the long hall. "I heard an explosion outside, what's going on?" Guards were running past her, in the opposite direction, outside.

"There was an attack on the Western Watchtower. Witnesses say it was a dragon, but I believe Jarl Balgruuf will tell you more. He requests that you meet in the strategy room."

"A dragon?" Rezuin couldn't help but be skeptical. She had already come across a couple of the despicable beasts in the north. It was not too unusual. "Very well. You may come along as well, Lydia. If you are coming to fight with me today I would like you to be informed."

"Yes, my Thane." Rezuin quickened her pace, and she and Lydia jogged up the steps behind the empty Jarl's chair to the strategy room above.

"Ah, Thane. It's good to see you here." Jarl Balgruuf greeted not unkindly. "Allegedly, a dragon has attacked the Western Watchtower. I need you to go and find out what's happening. Unfortunately, that doesn't leave much time to talk. Irileth, will you show the Thane to the Watchtower?"

"Of course, Jarl." The Dunmer woman said, and began walking down the steps.

Rezuin, Lydia and Irileth marched out into the glaring noon sunlight. A couple more guards ran past them, down the stairs and into the city. As they walked, Rezuin pulled her bow off her back and quickly strung it, plucking the taut string in approval. "Lydia?"

"Yes?"

"Do you still have that quiver of arrows I gave you ago?"

"Yes, my Thane. You actually gave me two quivers; which would you like?" She opened her own bag and looked inside, at the same time trying to keep her footing on the uneven grassy dirt and flagstones in the streets. The bag was of the same caliber as Rezuin's own, and had taken a long time to enchant and craft.

"Ah, right. Let me see." She peered inside the dark bag, and could see both. They were of finer quality than the homemade and often very shitty ones she carried with her. "I think I'll use the Orcish arrows." She reached in and grabbed the quiver, taking the one off her back. "Carry this one until after this has been taken care of."

"I am sworn to carry your burdens." Lydia said with a hint of annoyance, putting the dirty quiver in her bag in exchange for the green, metal one. At this point they were muttering, as Irileth was giving a sort of rally speech to the several guards assembled just outside Whiterun's main gate. After getting her arrows, Rezuin beckoned to Lydia and they continued past Irileth and her men, outside the city.

Even from the entrance to the city, Rezuin could pick out the puffs of dark smoke and flickers of orange amongst the tiny ruin of broken stone. "Hurm." She grumbled as they walked briskly down the slope and out the main gate.

The plains were mild and breezy, the light grasses swaying peacefully. The scene could almost be considered content if it wasn't for the pile of smoldering stone and wood that was the remnants of the western Watchtower. She strode past the charred remains of a person, twisted in a terrible way on the ground. Before she could get much closer to the tower, however, an earth-shaking roar echoed across the plains. The shape of a dragon silhouetted against the bright sun, coming down from the mountains to swoop down past the two women. It banked up again, screaming its rage and blasting an angry spurt of fire in the air.

"By the Divines!" Irileth and her guards had caught up, and one of them had exclaimed what all beside Rezuin were thinking.

"It's actually pretty weak and shouldn't be much of a problem." Rezuin, black eye still trained on the beast, pulled a dark arrow from her new quiver.

"Not a problem?" The same man yelled incredulously. He was a Bosmer, like herself; how unusual. "It must take dozens of men to take down this creature!"

"Oh, not at all." She answered, squinting her blind eye out of habit. Her voice had dropped to a stupid little muttering to herself as the point of her arrow followed the dragon's patterns. "Just one." Her fingers let go. The dragon bellowed fire.


End file.
